


Eskel

by Ruusverd



Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [18]
Category: Echoes of the Fall - Adrian Tchaikovsky, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bronze Age AU, Gen, shapeshifter AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26027587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruusverd/pseuds/Ruusverd
Summary: They reach the trading post at long last, and Geralt runs into his brother. Somehow it turns into a theology debate.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Echoes of the Fall AU [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863010
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	Eskel

The landing at the Horse trading post was bustling. Jaskier had been right in his prediction, it seemed every village in the area had sent at least one or two traders to take advantage of the fresh supply of goods from the south. Tall, long- limbed Deer, powerfully muscled Boar, slinking Coyotes, and a few Eyriemen had all brought whatever their tribe produced in excess to exchange for things they couldn’t produce themselves.

Most numerous were the Many Mouth Wolves, who’d come in a large party instead of sending just a few traders with their iron tools and axe heads to trade with. Only the Wolf could produce and Step with iron, but no one needed to Step to tend crops or chop firewood, and tools forged from the wolf-iron were highly prized for such tasks. The Wolf hunters strutted around the post as if it belonged to them, eyeing the packs and bags being unloaded by the Horse Society with a proprietary eye and taking no notice of the unimpressed expressions of their hosts and fellow traders. A few wore iron, but most didn’t, obviously confident no one would attack such a large group within their own borders.

Geralt spotted a pack of half-grown Wolf children of indeterminate gender racing around the post, Stepping back and forth, chasing each other and wrestling. They were obviously new to their souls and anxious to show off. The adult wolves watched with fond amusement and did nothing to curb their antics, even when goods or the occasional person got stepped on.

Yennefer eyed the youngsters dubiously. "Is that how young Wolves typically are allowed to behave?" she asked Geralt in a low voice. “You always gave me the impression that your people were rather more strict with their children.”

Geralt shook his head, chuckling as one of the youths lost hold of his Stepped form mid-stride and fell on his human face, to the loud ridicule of the others. "I imagine they’d all get whipped for it at any other time, but this is probably the first journey these children have made on four feet, of course they’re in high spirits. They're just practicing for the Testing, no one minds if they make nuisances of themselves in the meantime. It’s good for them."

"I think the Wolves are the only ones who _don’t_ mind," Yennefer said dryly as she saw a Deer man pull his bag of trade goods out of the way of the thundering horde of yapping young wolves just in time to prevent it from being trampled.

Geralt couldn’t argue with that, but still felt a nostalgic happiness at the sight of the unruly pack. One of the few bright spots of his youth were those perfect, golden months between the first time he'd Stepped in early spring and the Testing in late autumn. He’d spent that whole season running, jumping and play-fighting with his peers, all of them reveling in their new forms and new souls, and in being free for once from the harsh discipline of their elders. The freedom had been an illusion of course, but it had been a welcome illusion for as long as it had lasted.

Even though they were supposed to be pretending not to know each other, Geralt couldn’t help looking over towards the mute horses, checking on the girls. Lem was grinning at the mayhem, while Ciri watched the young Wolves with an expression of wistful envy. Geralt was sorry that he couldn’t give her a pack of other children to run and play with, but he assuaged his guilt by remembering the harsher aspects of a young Wolf’s upbringing that he was sparing her by remaining separate from the tribes.

The longer he had Ciri the less he understood why Vesemir and the priests had believed that beating their lessons into the young with whips would make them stronger. It had made them harder, maybe, but not stronger. He remembered that Yennefer had told him something similar once, when he’d lived with her in Atahlan. She’d said that he was strong in spite of what the Wolf tribes had done and not because of it, but he hadn’t been willing to fully believe her until Ciri had come into his life.

Looking around the post, he spotted his foster brother Eskel talking to a Horse woman a short distance away. “Claw Catcher!” he called, waving and grinning at the surprised expression on his brother’s scarred face.

“White Wolf!” Eskel grinned back, the expression distorted by the marks of a Tiger’s claws that had scarred half his face and given him his hunter’s name. He abandoned his haggling and trotted over to clasp forearms with Geralt enthusiastically, before pulling him into a rough embrace. “What happened to your face?” he asked, gesturing at the bruises that were starting to darken from Geralt’s scuffle with Cahir the night before.

“I fought a hideous river monster,” Geralt told him seriously, “with my bare hands.”

“I smell a lie,” Eskel laughed. “When did you get here? I thought you’d gone south again.”

“I did, I came back up the river with the Horse Society.” Geralt explained the situation as briefly as he could, skimming over most of the important details in case of eavesdroppers but trusting his brother with the rough outline of their situation.

Eskel’s smile slowly dropped from his face, and by the end of Geralt’s summary he looked insulted. “You wouldn’t pledge loyalty to any of the Wolf tribes because you said they weren’t following the true way of the Wolf, but you’d settle down with a bunch of random stragglers who aren’t Wolves at all?”

“You know why I didn’t. You didn’t yourself at first, we traveled together for several years after the massacre.”

“Because I was _mourning,_ Geralt! I was deciding where I wanted to go, not rejecting my people entirely!”

“I’m not-” Geralt bit his tongue, glancing away briefly, “I don’t want to have this argument again, it won’t do any good and shouting is just going to draw attention I don’t want. I can’t and won’t rejoin the tribes, and that’s the end of it. Especially not with a child. We’re going back to the old place to see what can be salvaged,” he said, knowing Eskel would understand what he meant by the ‘old place.’

“If you’re going back I’m coming with you,” Eskel said flatly. “I’m one of the Many Mouths now, but I belonged to the old place first and I have a right to see what’s done with it.”

“You do,” Geralt agreed.

“Lambert and Coen deserve to be there as well, but Lambert’s with the Swift Backs to the east and I don’t know where Coen is now, or if he’s even still alive. I assume you’re not willing to wait.”

“You assume right,” Geralt agreed again, “but I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell the Many Mouths too much about our business.”

“I won’t lie to them Geralt. They’re my tribe now and that means something to me, even if you don’t understand it.”

“And I’m your brother, that means something, too. Like you said, you belonged to me first before you were one of them.”

Eskel sighed, “Right enough. Well, give me a few minutes to tell the others I’m tagging along to help escort the Snake on her mysterious ‘priest business’ and we’ll go.”

“You trust him?” Yennefer asked in an undertone as Eskel wove his way through the gathered traders.

“Yes,” Geralt said simply. He didn’t know how to explain Eskel to Yennefer. Eskel simply _was,_ as long as Geralt could remember. Vesemir Swift Strike, chief of the Elder Sea tribe, had fostered many sons but Eskel and Geralt had been closer than any of the others. They’d gained their souls within days of each other, they’d gone through the Testing and the Rites of Iron at the same time, and they’d fought and hunted side by side as young hunters.

Eskel had helped Geralt put his shattered mind back together after the ritual with the Champion and the subsequent slaughter of the priests, when no one else would come near him for fear that his newly distorted face and whitened skin and hair were the signs of a curse. They’d been inseparable before the massacre and even afterwards, until the wolf’s need for _pack_ had pulled Eskel back to the tribes, while the weight of bad memories pushed Geralt away. Geralt trusted Eskel like an extension of himself.

He glanced around again to see Lem and Ciri slipping out of the post with Plotka, as if they were Horse children taking one of their mute cousins for exercise. Yennefer and Geralt met Eskel at the gate, and they joined the girls just beyond the treeline.

“So you’re the girl who wants to be a Wolf,” Eskel looked at Ciri appraisingly.

“I _am_ a Wolf,” Ciri insisted, “Or I will be. Who are you?”

“Eskel Claw Catcher,” Eskel introduced himself, “I’m Geralt’s brother.”

“Are you an Iron Wolf too?” Ciri asked Eskel skeptically, “You don’t have the metal shirt like Geralt’s.”

“I am,” Eskel said, showing her his iron knife as proof. “I have a metal shirt like Geralt’s, I just don’t have it with me.”

“Why not?”

“I left it at home, I didn’t think I’d need it in my own tribe’s territory and with so many of my people around.” Eskel jerked a thumb at Geralt, “This one travels by himself all over the world, so he has to practically live in his.” He looked at Geralt sourly, “Wolves aren’t supposed to have to watch their own backs.”

“Geralt has lots of people to watch his back,” Ciri told him. “A whole warband!”

“That’s not the same,” Eskel argued.

“Why not?”

“You can’t have a real tribe with all different kinds of people together,” Eskel tried to explain.

“Why not?” she demanded. Geralt could feel his lips starting to twitch with amusement. He recognized the stubborn expression on Ciri’s face.

“Because it’s not right!”

_“Why not?”_

“You may as well give up or you’ll be hearing ‘why not?’ all the way to Elder Sea,” Geralt informed Eskel. “It's a competition now. She’ll keep asking longer than you can keep answering.”

“These things are known: she will,” Yennefer agreed. “And she’s right. The tribes of the Tsotec have lived side by side in the Sun River Nation for many generations without losing their own gods or their own separate identities. Of course that’s not quite the same thing, but our little band is hardly likely to upset the balance of the world.”

“Yes, well, of course you would say that. You're from the south, where your people rule over everyone,” Eskel pointed out.

“And you're from the north, where the Shadow of the Wolf rules,” Yennefer countered. “And the Serpent doesn’t rule _over_ the Sun River Nation, she lies _beneath_ it. The Coils of the Serpent run through all the earth, lifting the Nation up and supporting its weight on her back, offering wisdom and aid.”

“Weakness,” Eskel declared, more in the tone of someone repeating a lesson learned by rote than with any genuine conviction. “The Wolf doesn’t send his people aid, he sends us the winter and the night and the fire to test us, and those that survive are stronger for it.”

“The Hyena waits for the end of the world,” Lem interjected. Tired of being ignored, Geralt assumed. “When everyone else is dead, the Hyena will be there to stand on the mountain of bones and laugh, and finally rule everything. If we’re all comparing our gods now.”

“That sounds awful,” Ciri told her honestly, “Why would you want the end of the world?”

Lem shrugged. “It’s not _real,_ no one wants the _real_ end of the world. It’s just something we tell ourselves to feel better when the prey is too fast or the Lion is too strong. ‘Someday they’ll all be dead and the Hyena will be there to laugh.’ Same as it makes the river folk feel better to say the Snake is serving the Sun River Nation instead of ruling it, or the Wolves comfort themselves when the winter comes and steals the young and the weak by saying ‘the Wolf sent this to make us stronger,’ when really it’s just the weather and nothing to do with gods or Wolves at all.”

“You’re either a terrible cynic or you're trying to offend us all, and I can’t tell which,” Yennefer told the Laughing Girl. "Or perhaps it's both at the same time."

Lem grinned at her, pleased at the thought of having offended all of her companions simultaneously.

“Can’t say she’s wrong, though,” Geralt said. “The workings of the gods sometimes turn out to be just acts of nature or illusions made by men who want to put their god's authority behind their words.”

“ _You_ I don’t wonder about, I already know you’re a cynic,” Yennefer laughed at him.

“No more talk of gods!” Eskel declared, “Now that we’re away from listening ears, tell me more about how you ended up collecting such an odd warband, Geralt!”

Geralt told Eskel about their long journey, with many interruptions and additions from the others, and then Eskel told them all the recent gossip of the north, which no one but Geralt seemed to find at all interesting, being full of names and places they didn’t recognize.

They reached the rest of the warband that afternoon, and more introductions had to be made. Eskel already knew Jaskier, and Milva’s presence was odd but not foreign, but Regis and Cahir were a bit harder for the Wolf to accept.

Once Eskel had been assured that Regis didn’t intend to eat anyone, Geralt could practically see his brother lumping Regis and Yennefer together in his mind and attributing any oddness to them being ‘foreign priests’ and thus nothing to worry about. Geralt wasn’t actually sure if Regis _was_ a priest, or if the Bat Society even had priests, but he supposed it didn’t much matter.

“You must be the hideous river monster Geralt told me about,” Eskel told Cahir with a teasing glance at Geralt, obviously seeing Cahir’s blooming black eye and comparing it to the age of Geralt’s bruises.

“I don’t care what he told you, I am _not_ a Crocodile!” Cahir shouted back out of reflex.

Geralt, Ciri, and Lem all started laughing at Eskel’s startled confusion at the loud declaration.

“I refuse to have a repeat of last night!” Yennefer announced firmly. “You can speak to each other civilly or you can stay silent, but there will be no more brawling!”

The Wolves, despite not having being raised to give unquestioning obedience to the Snake as Cahir had been, were nevertheless wise enough to not test the priestess’ patience. Reunited, the whole band started heading north. It would take some time to reach the ruins of the Elder Sea village on human feet, but the distance remaining was so much less than the distance behind that they all felt as if their destination were practically in sight.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I've actually used pronouns for the Snake before or not in this series, but it's canon that the Snake doesn't have an assigned gender or care about pronouns, so I've decided Yennefer uses feminine pronouns when referring to her totem.


End file.
